


Canary III:  The Voyage Home

by Jael, pir8grl



Series: Voyages of the Canary [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-16 13:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pir8grl/pseuds/pir8grl
Summary: Damien Darhk is out for revenge against the Canary's crew.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably run three or four chapters. Enjoy!

**Callao, Peru**

“How did you know she wanted a dress?” Sara asked Leonard, watching Sin happily clutching her parcel of russet-colored linen. The three were strolling along the market on the way back to the ship, enjoying the sun...and the current lack of people who wanted to kill them. (As far as they knew.)

“I’ve caught her ‘tidying’ the chest where you keep your gowns a couple of times. It wasn’t too hard to put together,” Leonard replied with an easy smile, the sort that for most of his life had been reserved for Lisa.

“You’re going to have to help stitch that, you know,” Sara informed her young friend, swinging her own packet of material from a hand. Hers, she thought privately, was a bit more sheer...and she had plans for it.

Only Leonard, as far as she was concerned, was going to find out about those.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help, too,” Leonard offered. “What?” he replied at Sin’s incredulous look. “I know how to sew a seam. So does Mick, as it happens."

Both young ladies giggled at that image.

And then a tall, slender figure stepped out of the shadows. The woman pushed back her hood, revealing an elegantly beautiful face and long, dark hair. “Hello, Sara.”

Sara moved without thought, stepping forward and pushing Sin back to Snart while settling her other hand on the hilt of one of her hidden knives.

“Sara?” Sin wavered, wide-eyed.

“It’s fine, Sin. Go with Leonard,” Sara replied quietly, keeping her gaze locked with that of the woman before her. “It’s **_fine._** I promise.”

That last was for Snart, and he knew it, nodding, even though Sara couldn’t see. He settled his hands firmly on Sin’s shoulders and led her swiftly back towards the Canary‘s berth.

“That is not your child,” Nyssa said matter-of-factly.

“No,” Sara agreed.

“After all we were to one another, you still felt you needed a man?”

“I didn’t ‘need a man,’” Sara replied, with a hint of steel in her voice. “I **_chose_** Leonard. There’s a difference.”

“There is,” Nyssa acknowledged, with the first faint crack in her flawless confidence. “I suppose that was petty of me.”

“A little,” Sara replied, with a crooked little half smile. “Nyssa, I’m not going back with you. I can’t.”

“That is not your choice to make, beloved.”

“And yet, I’m still alive, and you haven’t turned me in to your father.”

“Not for lack of opportunity.”

“I know. And I know that your primary mission is to track down Damien Darhk.”

“He endangers the secrecy of the League with his wild schemes.”

“He endangers the lives of innocent people with those schemes.”

“Yes, and you have disrupted his plans recently. It has made your presence known to us. I’ve only been able to distract the others’ attention from you because Darhk’s behavior is so public and outrageous, but there are limits to how long that will work. If you were to come back with me -”

“Nyssa, I can’t.”

“Your gentleman, and the child.”

“They’re part of it, but I can’t stomach the killing any more. Nyssa, I will always love you, but I can’t go back.” Sara turned sadly and walked away. When she made it to the wharf without feeling a dagger between her shoulder blades, she risked a look back.

Nyssa had vanished into the night.

***

Leonard was standing at the top of the gangplank watching for Sara. She released a shuddering breath as she stepped into his arms, and he all but crushed her against his chest. Dimly, she noticed Mick relax and set down his musket.

“Are you all right?” Leonard asked, scanning her for injuries.

“Yes, but we should probably go.”

“I figured. I told Mick…“

“Thank you,“ Sara told him, letting her faith in him shine through in her eyes.

Leonard leaned in and kissed Sara’s forehead before letting her go.

Sara stared at him for a long moment, then curled her hands into his coat and yanked him close to press a fierce kiss to his lips.

“Cap’n?” Mick asked quietly, “North or south?”

“South.”

***

Leonard was sitting in their bunk, reading, when Sara finally came in. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she emptied her pockets onto the desk and discarded her breeches and sandals. When she dropped her hairbrush and swore aloud, he set his book aside and held out his hand.

“Come here.”

She sighed and crawled into the bunk beside him. Leonard shifted slightly and reached up to untie her braid and separate the twisted golden strands with his fingers. Sara made a drowsy little sound of contentment as he drew the brush through her hair in long, languorous strokes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as he felt some of Sara’s tension finally melt away.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“Of what? You told us that Nyssa was covering for you.”

“She is, but that will only work for so long. As soon as someone who can identify me as Ta-er al-sahfer gets a good look at me, even she won’t be able to save me.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do? Raise a ransom, perhaps?”

She smiled sadly, knowing that offer was genuine. He‘d stolen a priceless emerald to free his sister, and she knew full well that he‘d do the same for her without a second thought.

“It doesn’t work that way. If it were just Nyssa, I think she might be persuaded to release me, but it’s her father…”

“Does he really inspire that much loyalty?”

“Ra’s al Ghul doesn’t inspire loyalty. He commands obedience, through terror. If I won’t go willingly, he’ll think nothing of eliminating everyone that I love. Everyone.”

“And I think I’ve told you before - I’m not so easy to kill, and I won’t let you go - not without one hell of a fight.”

* * *

**Off the Coast of South America**

Days passed, as they do. Sara remained a little quiet and thoughtful, although she smiled to see Leonard working with a slightly incredulous Sin on the design of her new gown. She spent a lot of time on deck, staring into the distance, and Leonard and the crew were wise enough to let her keep her thoughts to herself.

Mostly.

“Have you ever thought about going home?” Leonard asked one night, in the darkened stillness of their cabin.

“How can I?” Sara sighed and turned her head into his shoulder. “Marblehead isn’t exactly what you’d call a cosmopolitan port. A ship like this would attract far too much attention.”

“So, you’ve never been back since you left on that voyage to Jamaica?”

“No.”

“And your family?”

“I’m sure they think I’m dead.”

“Sara…”

“They’re better off.”

“Tell me again, how old you were when you got on board that ship?” Leonard asked gently.

“Old enough to know better.”

Sara turned on her side, and Leonard knew the conversation was over.

***

All those thoughtful silences eventually started to have results. Predictably, for Sara, they took the form of violence, sort of.

“Mick, do we have any firearms light enough for Sin to handle?” she asked one morning, stepping onto the deck just as the sun was high enough to provide a good view.

“Not sure - I’d need to check the armory.”

“I thought we were starting her with the staff?” Amaya asked curiously, wandering over.

"Pretty lady!" Mick's bright green parrot squawked from the rigging, having finally learned to include Amaya in its proclamations.

Sara ignored it and continued speaking. “We are, but I want her to have options. I’d like her to be able to defend herself from a distance.”

“Something we should know about?” Mick asked, eyeing his captain and his...well, whatever she was...as he paused in going about the morning routine.

“Damien Darhk. League of Assassins. Another day in the life. I just…I want her to be as safe as possible.”

Mick nodded gravely. “Sure thing, Cap’n.”

***

Sara was persistent. But she wasn't the only one.

Snart leaned casually on the rail beside Sara that evening. “You know,” he said quietly, “we could dock the Canary in the port at Boston. There’s ships from all over the world. She wouldn’t draw any particular attention. We could hire a small boat, or even a carriage, and go to Marblehead.”

“Why are you so set on this?” Sara demanded, exasperation tinging her tone.

He shrugged slightly. “It’s not even two years, and I miss my sister. I can’t imagine -”

“I can,” Sara replied. “I can just imagine how well my family would react to seeing me back from the dead. And hearing that I’ve spent those years as an assassin and a pirate.” She looked out over the waves, not really seeing them. “I never told you, but the young man who invited me aboard that ship - he’d been courting my sister. I hurt everyone who ever loved me, just to satisfy a foolish whim. Why would they ever want me back?”

“I would,” he murmured.

Sara turned her head to look at him in disbelief.

“I would always want you back. That’s what it means to love someone.”

“Some things even love can’t fix,” Sara murmured sadly. Then she turned and walked away.

***

Mick joined Sara as she stared morosely out at the waves. “I don’t know why he’s so set on going home,” Sara muttered.

Mick didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was. He never did, with these two. “He cares,” Mick began tentatively.

“I know.”

“I’m not sure you do. I’ve known Snart since we was boys. All his life, he’s seen how decent men treat their womenfolk, but he never, ever saw Lewis treat Lisa or their mother right. It ain’t that he don’t trust you - he does. He knows how strong you are, and how brave. It’s just…he don’t want to be like Lewis. He wants you to know how much he cares. Hell, sometimes, I've seen him start to reach out his hand, when you’re climbing the rigging or some such. He wants to be a good man…for Lisa, and for you.”

Sara nodded thoughtfully, as several of Leonard’s behaviors fell into place in her mind. “Thanks, Mick.” She shot him a side-wise glance. “Amaya’s a very lucky lady.”

The big man just blushed a darker shade of red and mumbled something about getting back to work.

***

“Hold still, or you’re going to get stuck with a pin,” Sara scolded.

“Why’s the top so much harder than the bottom?” Sin grumbled, trying not to wriggle.

“Because the skirt was two straight seams, a drawstring, and a hem. The bodice is a lot of tucks and pleats that can be let out later,” Sara replied, as patiently as possible.

“Why?”

“Because I think we’d all be a lot happier if the dress fits you for more than a week! You are growing like a weed, young lady!”

Sin humphed, but stop squirming. After a moment, however, she struck back.

“Why don’t you want to see your family?” the girl asked abruptly.

“It’s complicated, and what were you doing, listening in on other people’s conversations?”

“It’s not listening in, when you all just talk in front of me,” Sin replied pertly.

Sara sighed. She probably had a point. “For one thing, they think I’m dead, and for another, I’ve done a lot of foolish things that they aren’t likely to forgive.”

“How do you know, if you won’t talk to them?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“I’d give anything to see my mum and dad again…or have a sister.”

Sara smiled and wrapped her arms around her young friend, pins and all. “You’ll always have a sister.”

***

Sara looked across the galley at her crew, then banged her tankard on the tabletop. “All right. Anyone have any warrants out for them in Boston?”

There were head shakes and murmurs of "no, ma’am."

“Good. When we get back up north, we’ll plan on a brief layover for supplies. Jefferson, you can see if there’s anything you’d like done in the shipyard. Martin, you and Nate will want to visit the booksellers. Mick and Leonard, I know you’ve missed your friends Cisco and Bartholomew dreadfully,” she concluded with a twinkle in her eye.

“Thanks, Cap’n,” Mick said, rising to his feet. “Awright, you lot - back to work!”

Leonard waited for the others to file out before walking behind Sara’s chair and bending to drop a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you. Why the change of heart?”

Several ideas skittered quickly through Sara’s mind before she settled on one simple explanation. “You make me happy,” she finally admitted, “and seeing Lisa will make you happy. But there will be no side trips to Marblehead.”

Leonard let that go, for the moment. He’d have plenty of time to work something out.


	2. Chapter 2

**The South Atlantic**

“Morning, Captain!“ Sin called from the passage, entirely too chipper for the hour.

Waking quickly and thoroughly, as almost always, Sara stretched, then rolled out of the bunk to her feet and padded over to the door to collect a bucket of hot water and a mug of steaming tea. “Good morning,“ she called with a fond smile, although the girl had already scampered off.

There was a sigh behind her, and Sara frowned as she heard Leonard begin to move about, then a quickly muffled groan of pain. She set out a couple of washrags and some soap, then rummaged in her chest for a small jar of ointment. Leonard had sat up by the time she turned around. He winced as he raised his arms to remove his shirt, and while she always admired the view, today, Sara quickly stepped around behind him.

There was a wicked scar on his right shoulder blade, the result of getting between Lewis and Lisa when the former had been hellbent on punishing the girl for some imagined or minor offense. Predictably, it hadn’t been treated at the time, and could occasionally pain him considerably. Sara stretched up and pressed a delicate kiss to the scar, then carefully dabbed it with some of the pungent liniment.

“Better?” she asked.

“You kissed it - of course it’s better. Thank you.”

He looked back over his shoulder with a particular gleam in his eye, and Sara quickly skipped back out of reach, chuckling softly. “Later,” she promised. “I need to check our position.” She turned back to the business of laying out clean clothes while he washed.

***

Later that morning, Sara was spending her usual thoughtful time at the rail when Mick joined her.

“Been awhile since we made port, Cap’n,” he remarked neutrally.

His captain glanced at him. “Is there anything in particular that we have a need for?”

He shrugged. “More wanting than needing. A bit of fresh meat wouldn’t go amiss, and Sin wants cake.”

“Sin always wants cake,” Sara laughed. “Can we hold out until Bermuda?”

“S’pose so.”

“Let’s try that, then. If we get desperate for anything, we can always swing west into the Caribbean.”

Mick glanced at her, a seemingly casual glance that Sara knew him well enough to read correctly. “I know you’re just trying to keep us safe, Sara.”

She gave him a flat glance in return. “The League has eyes and ears everywhere. Getting mixed up with Damien Darhk’s operations has drawn attention to us.”

“You couldn’t let that stuff stand. That’s not who you are.”

“No, but it’s endangered the rest of you." She sighed, then turned more fully toward him. "Look, Mick, it’s not as though you’re contracted to The Canary…”

Mick folded his arms. “I ain’t going nowhere, Sara. You took a chance on me, when not many would. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Sara's voice was barely a whisper, but it was full of gratitude.

“Still ain’t getting rid of me.”

***

While the long days at sea tended to blur together, this **_was_** the Canary. And eventually, as tended to be the case, excitement found them.

“Cap’n!” Mick bellowed, “we’ve got a longboat off the starboard side!”

“Anyone in it?”

Mick refocused his spyglass. “Looks like one man.”

“Alive or dead?” Snart asked. He'd been discussing some obscure point of history with, of all people, Martin Stein, who frowned as he joined the others at the railing.

“Can’t tell.”

Sara pursed her lips, weighing their options.

“Captain, surely we must investigate,” Martin urged. “You can hardly leave this man to his fate.”

“I can, if I think he’s a threat,” Sara countered.

“How could he be, all the way out here?” Martin argued. “We’re so far from shore, surely he escaped a catastrophe of some sort.”

Sara turned to Snart. “Sidearms, and a musket for you. If this man so much as twitches -”

He nodded and went below.

“Mick, bring us alongside.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Martin said, staring at the stranded man with fascination.

Sara sighed. “Let’s just hope we don’t live to regret this.”

***

“He’s alive, Captain!” Jefferson called from where he knelt next to the man.

“All right,” Sara replied cautiously. “Check him for weapons, then bring him aboard. Anything in the boat?”

“No, ma’am,” Nate answered. He accompanied Jefferson to the other craft.

“Scuttle it.” She turned to the professor, who was observing the process with his usual curiosity. “Martin, do you have anything to bring him around?”

“I’ll have to check my supplies. It’s been some time since I’ve been able to replenish anything.”

“And I told you to be sure and let me know if we were running low on anything critical,” Sara reminded him.

Martin returned to the deck with his supplies by the time the stranger had been hauled aboard. Snart trained a musket on him while Mick conducted a more thorough search, producing a watch, a purse, and an oilskin packet of papers. The stranger had a narrow face and a long, pointed nose, and his exposed skin was dreadfully sunburned.

“If we could move him below, I’m sure he’d be more comfortable,” Martin said.

“No,” Sara replied. “He stays where he is, until I’m certain he’s no threat.”

“Captain, I must protest! This is barbaric!”

“Cap’n don’t do nothing without good reason,” Mick said firmly. “Go about yer business.”

Martin glared and harrumphed, then got back to the business at hand, carefully uncorking a scent bottle and waving it under the man’s nose.

The man gasped and shuddered, then opened his eyes, looking up warily at the faces clustered above him. “Water?” he croaked.

Sara nodded, and Mick held a flask to his lips.

“State your name and your business,” Sara ordered.

“Daniel Defoe, wine merchant, at your service, madam.”

“What’s a wine merchant doing this far out to sea in a longboat?”

“I assure you, that was not by choice. There was a gale, some nights ago, and my ship was lost.”

“How long were you adrift?” Martin asked kindly.

“I’m rather afraid I lost track. Perhaps three days?”

Sara nodded. He couldn’t have lasted much longer than that with no fresh water. “Are you the only survivor?”

“I had two men with me. One died of his injuries, and we put him over the side. The body was attracting swarms of birds, you see.”

“And the other?” Mick asked.

“He went mad from the sun, yesterday, I think it was, and threw himself overboard.”

Jefferson came up beside Sara and spoke quietly, “Ma’am, the papers are for a cargo of wine, and then there’s what looks to be a journal.”

“You see?” Martin said brightly. “It all makes perfect sense. Now, can we please make this gentleman more comfortable?”

“Martin,” Sara said sharply, “I decide what constitutes a clear and present danger to my ship.” She stepped slightly away and gestured for Mick to follow.

“What do you think?”

“It sounds right. His clothes and watch, and the papers, look legitimate, and these sudden squalls - you know the wreckage disappears overnight, like nothin‘ ever happened.”

“All right." Sara took a deep breath, then turned back, raising her voice somewhat. "Welcome aboard The Canary, Master Defoe. We’ll put you ashore at the next port.”

“I am deeply gratified, madam.”

Sara nodded, and Snart leaned down to give the shaky man a hand up and a shoulder to lean on. Martin turned to follow them below.

“Martin.”

He turned back to face the captain.

“If you ever speak out of turn in front of strangers again, you’ll be put off at the next port.”

“Understood, Captain.”

***

Even with the occasional excitement aboard ship, everyday tasks and duties continued, some more pleasant than others.

Sara and Amaya were supervising Sin as she sewed the side seams for the bodice of her new dress. Sara was working with the fine, filmy lawn that she’d taken great pains to conceal from Leonard. Amaya was mending a coarsely woven linsey-woolsey shirt.

“You know, Mick is entirely capable of doing that for himself,” Sara teased.

“Perhaps,” Amaya answered. “But it pleases me to look after him. He would do the same for me. Besides,” she added, with a gentle barb of her own, “isn’t that,” she nodded to Sara’s needlework, “ultimately for Leonard’s benefit?”

“Perhaps,” Sara echoed. She glanced to Sin, whom she knew was listening avidly. “But there’s no reason why a woman shouldn’t have something lovely to wear, for herself, just because she wants it.”

***

“How is our guest settling in?” Sara asked Leonard, who’d just wandered into their cabin with a mug of tea. She pushed aside her charts and held out her hands.

“He’s a bit too curious for my taste.”

“How so?” Sara asked, taking a sip of her tea and smiling - he’d added just enough honey.

“He noticed that we weren’t really built for cargo, and said he’d never seen a ship like this one. I told him we were a courier for a London company. That seemed to satisfy him.”

“Well, we do still have those papers Raymond drew up for us.” She took another drink of her tea, then passed him the mug.

Leonard took a tiny sip. Jasmine tea was a bit strong for his taste, but it pleased Sara to share with him, and it pleased him to make her smile.

Sara reached up to gently rub his shoulder with fingers warmed from holding the mug of tea. Leonard leaned into the caress, rather like a large cat. Sara, smiling privately to herself, half expected him to purr.

“Try to keep him away from Martin, if you can," she cautioned. "He’s not as guarded with his words as I’d like.”

Leonard nodded his agreement and passed her the mug as he straightened. “So you think this man is just a wine merchant who happened to be caught in a shipwreck?”

“He’s not League - we’d all be dead by now if that were the case. Why?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something seems just slightly off about him.”

Sara frowned, but before she could formulate a response, the ship's bell began to clang. She and Leonard exchanged a glance, then pounded out of the cabin and up the steps.

“Report!” she yelled, as soon as she set foot on deck.

“Ship coming up on the port side,” Mick barked. “Cap’n…the ship…it looks like The Canary. I ain’t never seen another ship like this one.”

Sara quickly moved beside him and held her hand out for the glass. “I have.”

Snart materialized beside her. “Is it Nyssa?” he asked quietly.

“Can’t tell from this distance, but it’s definitely a League ship. Mick, you take the wheel. Get us out of here.”

“Where do you want me?” Snart asked.

“Muskets and sidearms,” Sara replied, worriedly. “If Mick can’t get us out of this…”

“He will. You will.” He squeezed her arm briefly, then went below.

Sara sucked in a deep breath. “Martin, take Sin below and secure what you can. This could get ugly. Amaya, you’re with Mick.”

Snart came back up top and began methodically loading muskets, while Nate distributed pistols. “Do League ships carry cannon?”

“No. They’re built for speed and stealth, like the Canary. It’s the crew that’s the real danger.”

“But they can’t carry many more than we do?”

“No, but you’ve seen me fight. These are the people who trained me. If they attack us, there will be no quarter given. Do you understand?”

“Captain!” Amaya called urgently. “Come look. I think…they’re flying a flag of truce?” Disbelief made it into a question.

Sara quickly brought up her own spyglass and focused it on the approaching vessel.

Snart leaned in close to speak in her ear. “Do we trust them?”

Sara swallowed hard before speaking. “If they meant to attack us, they’d just do so. To use that sort of deceit is considered highly dishonorable.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Mick. Allow them to come alongside.”

She glanced around the deck. “Nate, I want Martin, Sin, and Master Defoe to keep out of sight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

Nate and Jefferson manned the deck, while Amaya had the tiller. Mick and Snart joined Sara in the galley for a parlay with Nyssa and two of her lieutenants.

The parrot proceeded to call Nyssa 'pretty lady' until Mick chivied it out into the passage. The dark-haired woman seemed to ignore it, although she gave Sara a tiny smile that made the blond captain's cheeks flush just a tad.

“This is a quite a remarkable ship,” Nyssa said conversationally. “I do like the customizations you’ve made.”

“Thank you. To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” Sara countered.

“You’ve proven quite hard to locate.”

“We prefer it that way.”

Nyssa smiled. “Perhaps, but when one avoids ports, one tends to avoid the current news. Or not so current, as the case may be. Some time ago, you disrupted a scheme of Damien Darhk’s. He seeks vengeance. He’s been following you - or attempting to, at any rate. You slipped away from Port Royal rather suddenly late last spring. He was quite upset about that, and threw a bit of a tantrum.”

“Is there some point to this?” Sara asked in a careful tone.

“Port Royal no longer exists.”

“Wait,” Leonard interrupted. “Darhk destroyed an entire town, just to get even with us?”

“He destroyed an entire town in a fit of pique because he could not ’get even’ with you,” Nyssa replied. Her tone was odd, Sara thought. As if... as if...

Putting the elusive thought aside, she leaned forward. “Why are you telling us this?”

“Your Master Snart is from Boston, in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. We believe Darhk is bound there now, to do to Boston what he did to Port Royal. We also have reason to believe he is in the company of one Slade Wilson.”

“Why should we trust anything you tell us?” Mick demanded bluntly, stepping up to Sara's right shoulder.

“The League has eyes and ears everywhere,” Sara told him. “Nyssa may be…selective…with what information she chooses to share, but it will be accurate.”

Nyssa gave an elegant nod of her head before continuing. “What do you know of this Slade Wilson?” 

“Not a lot of facts,” Sara replied. “He’s a particularly vicious pirate who doesn’t tend to leave survivors. Those few who do manage to stay alive tend to be so terrified that their accounts aren’t worth much.”

“Most of what we do know is the sorta thing you hear in taverns,” Mick added, ignoring Nyssa’s elegantly raised eyebrow. “They say he wears that mask because half his face got burnt off. Some folks say he tangled with his best friend over a woman, and she died.”

“Well, that is the sort of thing one tends to hear from drunken sailors,” Nyssa said, dismissively, leaning back.

Mick shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t mean it ain’t true.”

“His standard is black and orange, like the mask he wears,” a small voice said from the doorway.

“Sin -” Sara began, half-rising, intending to shut the door, but Nyssa held out her hand to the girl.

“Come here, little one.”

Sin took a deep breath and continued, even though she was visibly shaking. “He wears two really big swords across his back, and he runs people all the way through…not just to kill them, but until the sword sticks out the other side. He says mean things to scare people before he kills them.”

“And how do you know all this?” one of Nyssa’s people scoffed, drawing a glare from both Mick and Snart.

“My dad hid me in an apple barrel, but there was a knothole…I could see everything.”

Sara held out her arms and when Sin went to her, enfolded the girl in a strong embrace.

“Have you any idea why Wilson might have targeted your father’s ship?” Nyssa asked intently.

“We were carrying cargo for a merchant named Queen," Sin muttered. "That name seemed to make him really mad.”

“Indeed,” Nyssa observed thoughtfully, noting the way Sara had sucked in a sharp breath at that name.

Sara gave Sin one last hug. “That’s enough. You go back to my cabin and shut the door, all right?”

Sin nodded tearfully and headed out.

“The point is,” Sara said, using her best ‘captain’ tone to drown out any impending bickering, “Darhk and Wilson are the worst possible combination. They will burn the city to the ground and kill everyone in it. It will be very messy and very public. We can’t stop them if we’re fighting each other, so what’s it going to be? Are you going to stand with us?”

Nyssa’s lieutenant whispered an urgent protest in a language only Sara understood. She stilled him with a sharply raised hand. “My crew stands with yours to defeat this threat. We shall discuss other matters once we have attended to Darhk and his new associates.”

***

“What do you suppose is going on in there?” Master Defoe asked, eyes on the door to the room where the captain had taken the newcomers. Martin knew she'd wanted him to keep the merchant out of sight--but, well, the man was curious. And he, by god, understood that. It was nice to have someone of a similar bent on the ship, he thought, stamping down the faintest twinge of guilt.

“I’m sure I don’t know," Martin replied. "The captain can be quite secretive at times; always in our best interests, of course.”

“Of course. A lady adventurer. How singular!”

“Indeed. Captain Lance is quite unique.” He knew his tone was a touch dismissive. Better Master Defoe not know quite how unique, really.

“And her…gentleman friend, Master Snart?”

“We rescued him some time ago. He was also adrift following a dreadful storm. He‘s a man of rather distinctive talents.”

“He and the captain seem quite…close.” There was an unmistakable touch of innuendo to the words, something Martin heard with a touch of alarm. Best to shut that down right away. The only thing more dangerous than the captain on this ship was the captain and Master Snart acting as a team.

“That is hardly the sort of thing gentlemen speculate upon,” he said quite firmly.

“Of course. Do forgive me." The inquisitive merchant offered him a smile, taking a step back from where he'd been eyeing the door. "All this adventuring can make one quite giddy and irresponsible at times.”

Well, Martin thought, considering various things he'd seen aboard ship, there was truth to that.

“What is it that you’re writing?” he asked, hoping to steer the subject matter to less…sensitive topics...while stepping between the other man and the door in an attempt to herd him off to a safer locale.

Master Defoe patted his journal fondly, seeming distracted and even willing to be herded. “Notes about the things I’ve seen in my travels - far off places, foreign , odd customs - that sort of thing.”

“One does see some astonishing things, traveling by sea,” Martin agreed, taking another careful step. “Were you planning to write your memoirs when you return home?”

“Not quite. I’ve a pet project, you see. Have you ever noticed that when you visit a bookseller, there are no books of seafaring adventure?” Master Defoe asked, a gleam in his eye that bespoke a passionate interest in the topic at hand. He also took another step away from the cabin, then another.

“Surely the Royal Naval College -?”

“No, not books about actual sailing and shipbuilding, but tales of adventure - fighting off sharks, being stranded on a cannibal island - that sort of thing.”

Martin looked thoughtful as they fell into step beside each other. “Now that you mention it, I’ve never seen such a thing, and I do make a point to visit any libraries or booksellers in the vicinity, whenever the captain permits us to go ashore.”

“My point exactly. There aren’t any, but I think there would be a market for such a thing, don’t you?”

“What do you think, Sin?” Martin asked, knowing the girl had been lurking nearby. ”Should you like to read a book of adventures? Sin? Dear me…wherever can she have gotten to?”

***

Sara came on deck and stopped short at the sight of Nyssa teaching Sin to shoot arrows. “Who the hell thought that was a good idea?”

“All of us, Cap’n,” Mick told her.

“I’ve been watching them,” Snart assured her. “I don’t think Nyssa would hurt her, and anything that helps her to defend herself seems like a good thing.”

“She’s an assassin, Snart. You don’t see the danger until it’s too late. That’s the whole point.”

Sara ground the heels of her hands against her eyes, then looked up with such a stricken expression that Leonard took a step forward, reaching for her arm, prying eyes be damned.

“What is it?”

“If anything should happen to me, you’ll take care of Sin, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he replied instantly. “Any of us would. And there’s always Raymond -”

“No. I mean, not unless you don’t have any other choice. Raymond…he’s a good man. He’d always do the right and proper thing, and see that she was looked after…but I’m not sure he’d love her. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” Sara said with simple sincerity. “And…you know that I love you, right?”

“I do,” he replied, with the faintest hint of a smile. “Still nice to hear the words, sometimes.”

“You deserve to hear them. You deserve -”

Leonard reached out and gently laid his fingers over her lips. “You.”

***

If trouble was to come, they knew they would be better off planning for it. And so, the crew of the Canary and Nyssa’s people, though still suspicious of each other, gathered together to do so.

Nyssa glanced around the table before addressing her words to Sara. Her rather superior attitude was beginning to grate on assorted nerves, and it was only respect for their captain that kept the Canary’s crew from open impertinence.

“How do you propose we go about disrupting Darhk and Wilson’s plans, without attracting undue attention?” she inquired.

“Sink them before they get there,” Leonard suggested, from where he leaned against the table near Sara.

“How?” one of Nyssa’s people returned. “This ship - the Deathstroke - is heavily armed. We carry no cannon.”

“Our strength is in our speed,” Sara said thoughtfully. “We cut them off before they reach the city.”

“And then?” Nyssa prompted.

“Fire,” Mick said, with a peculiar gleam in his eye. “Cap’n, I know you can shoot arrows, and so can this lot. We wrap some arrows in pitch-soaked rags and light ‘em up. Big as that ship is, it’s still wood. It’ll burn.”

“How can you all discuss cold-blooded murder so calmly?” Martin asked, appalled.

Sara fixed him with a steely gaze. “Martin, you’ve seen the aftermath of Wilson and Darhk’s work. It’s the men on that ship, or all the people in the city - women, children, old people. Everyone.”

“The world won’t miss the crew of the Deathstroke,” Leonard added, his voice rising. Privately, the stricken look on Sin’s face lingered in his memory.

“But…”

Sara slapped her hand on the table loudly, to regain order. “Mick, do we have enough pitch?”

“No, ma’am.”

“All right. We were bound for Bermuda anyway, for supplies, and to drop off our errant passenger.”

“No need to make a side trip just for that,” Nyssa said in a silky tone that didn’t manage to hide the implied threat.

“No,” Sara said firmly, eyeing her. “He’s an innocent man, and we are going to put him ashore at Bermuda, as agreed.”

“He is a witness to things the League would prefer kept private,” Nyssa countered, folding her arms across her chest.

“We’ve worked very hard to keep him away -” Leonard began, only to be interrupted by a scuffle in the passage outside.

Mick wrenched the door open, and one of Nyssa’s people was there, holding Master Defoe in an arm lock. The League member spoke rapidly to Nyssa, who turned accusing eyes on Sara.

“He found this one listening at the door.”

“My apologies, ladies,” the Englishman said, trying to maintain his usual dignity. “I don’t usually get caught. You’re quite good,” he complimented the man who was restraining him.

“What business does a wine merchant have, skulking about my ship and eavesdropping?” Sara demanded.

“Ah…technically, I am a wine merchant, but that’s secondary to my true endeavors.”

“Which are?” Leonard ground out. He’d straightened the instant Nyssa started glaring at Sara.

“I am in His Majesty’s service. Although it was coincidence that you rescued me, it is a happy coincidence. Darhk and Wilson are both known enemies of the Crown. Boston is a valuable possession. It may be that I can help you in your mission.”

***

Leonard spotted Sara at the rail at the side of the ship. He glanced around quickly to make sure they didn’t have an audience, then stepped up behind her, knowing full well she was aware of his presence, and slipped an arm around her waist. He dipped his head to nuzzle the side of her neck, inhaling Sara's own unique scent and traces of lavender. He pressed his lips to her pulse point, then changed the angle slightly to tickle the sensitive skin with his scruff. That finally earned him a delicious shudder, and he straightened, self-satisfied smirk firmly in place.

Sara twisted slightly to look up at him. “What’re you up to?”

“Crook, remember? I see something I want, I take it.”

She shot him a look and quickly checked her pockets.

Leonard chuckled. “I wanted your attention. You’re brooding, love.” He produced a pack of cards from his own pocket and waggled it invitingly.

Sara looked up at him and grinned.

“Land ho!” Mick bellowed.

The animation faded from Sara’s features as she turned to face the business at hand.

Unnoticed by either of them, Master Defoe was busy scribbling notes in his journal. A lady adventurer, of independent spirit, with a casual disregard for societal norms? Could be a story there. Perhaps not quite suitable for all audiences. He sighed. First, he had to survive this mess that he’d somehow stumbled into.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: For a somewhat NSFW scene near the beginning of the chapter.

**Bermuda**

Sara was seething as she faced three rather battered members of her crew. At least she’d finally stopped swearing, a fact for which Leonard was profoundly grateful.

He was, however, also fairly impressed. He wasn’t even sure what some of those languages were.

“Stay out of trouble, I said. Be discreet, I said. We are not here for shore leave. Were those **_not_** my exact words?”

Leonard folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. “I have issues with men who won’t take no for an answer.”

Well, there really wasn’t much Sara could say to that, but her eyes promised a discussion yet to come. She turned her attention to Martin and Master Defoe.

“And you two! Who even gave you permission to disembark? By rights, I should leave you both behind.”

“We were merely trying to gather more intelligence,” Defoe said mildly. (Leonard was also mildly impressed he managed that, considering that Sara in full rage was an intimidating sight.)

“That’s what Leonard went ashore for.” Her voice had lost its rage. It was now very, very cool.

“Well, we thought we could cover more ground," Martin offered. (Leonard inwardly winced as Sara’s eyes narrowed further.)

“You covered plenty of ground, running away from the place where they caught you cheating at cards. Don’t do that if you can’t do it properly.”

“Well, we did manage to ascertain that the Deathstroke hasn’t been seen in this area,” Defoe said, rather defensively this time.

“We know that, because the town is still standing,” Sara replied acidly. “Out.”

Defoe sketched a hasty bow, and he and Martin exited forthwith.

Sara turned to Leonard. She sighed, and tenderly touched a bruise that was blooming on his cheek. “You just had to be a hero, didn’t you?”

He shrugged slightly, and rummaged in his pockets, producing a couple of coin pouches. “Contribution for the supply fund.“

Sara didn't even bother to ask anymore. She weighed the purses in her hand, shook her head a little, then deposited them in her strongbox.

“The Deathstroke is ahead of us,” Leonard told her soberly. “There was a merchant captain that swore he saw her just a few days past, off the coast of the Carolinas.”

“And he lived to tell the tale?”

“Says he recognized the standard and headed away as fast as he could.”

“The fact that Wilson didn’t pursue tells me that he’s on a mission.” 

“Yeah.”

***

The voyage up the coast seemed to take an interminable time. The Canary’s captain and crew were people of action, and the waiting-- however brief it truly was -- strained their nerves almost to the breaking point. Even Leonard, who was well accustomed to advance planning and patience, felt the tension. 

Only their unplanned passenger seemed entirely at his ease. Despite Sara’s intention of keeping Master Defoe and Martin separated, the two were invariably in one another’s company. The professor insisted that it was because they were possessed of a similar intellect. Mick said it was because they were a pair of old troublemakers...only he phrased it rather more rudely. 

“Come along now, bird,” Martin coaxed as he leaned over the table in the galley, facing down the recalcitrant parrot. “Verdant. Ver-dant.” 

“Verdie,” the parrot squawked, eyeing the biscuit in the professor’s hand and shifting from foot to foot.

“Verdant.” 

“What the hell are you doing with my bird?” Mick demanded, barging through the door to take in the little scene. After a startled moment, he shook his head and turned aside to grab some jerky.

“Ah, Master Rory! We were attempting to teach him his new name,” Master Defoe informed the first mate. The rescued man lounged in a chair by Martin, looking completely at ease.

“He’s got a name.” 

“‘Bird’ doesn’t really count as a name, Master Rory,” Martin replied, his tone long suffering.

“We thought Verdant, after his vivid coloring, you see,” Master Defoe explained. 

“What’s that mean?” Mick asked suspiciously, pausing another moment.

“It means green,” Martin replied, in a rather put-upon tone. 

“And, how, professor, is calling the bird ‘green’ any better than calling him ‘bird?’ ” With that rejoinder, the first mate exited again, leaving the other two men to stare at each other… with not a word in response.

***

The days were long and the crew got on to each other’s nerves as only colleagues of long standing could. Eventually though, they did near their destination, sailing smoothly past New York and and Connecticut, and up towards Massachusetts. 

Leonard was reading at the desk when Sara entered their cabin. He heard her latch the door securely, and then the soft rustle of clothing being discarded. (He smiled to himself, but kept reading.) By the time she plucked the book from his hands and slid into his lap, she was wearing just her shirt.

Sara wound her arms around his neck and began kissing him ardently. He certainly didn’t object to her initiating things - Sara's fiery independence was one of the things he loved most about her - but there was an air of desperation to her actions that Leonard didn’t care for. He pulled back slightly, then ran his hands through her hair, tucking it back behind her ears, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Not that I'm complaining, but what’s brought this on?” he murmured quietly.

She guided one of his hands to her bare leg, which did nothing to calm his breathing or thought processes…or anything else, for that matter.

“I love you, and I want you,” she replied simply, not quite meeting his eyes.

Resolutely, Leonard tucked a hand under Sara’s chin, and lifted her face so he could see her eyes clearly. “I love you, and I **_always_** want you, but this…you’re acting like… Sara, we are **_not_** going to die tomorrow.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Maybe not, but I have to believe it. I have to believe that we will make it through this, and I’ll see my sister safe, and you and I will be right back here tomorrow night.”

Sara swallowed, hard, and all the passionate energy seemed to drain out of her. She dropped her head again. “Damien Darhk, Slade Wilson, and the League waiting in the wings. Those are pretty strong odds.”

“I’ve spent my whole life beating the odds.”

“But even if we manage to save the city, Nyssa -”

Leonard leaned in and placed a delicate kiss on her left eyelid, then her right. “We will save the city, and we will find a way to deal with Nyssa. I promise.”

He brushed barely there kisses to her cheeks and chin, then smirked wickedly against her lips. Sara took that for the warning it was intended to be, and twined her arms around Leonard’s neck, giggling into the hollow of his throat when his hands slid down to her bottom and he abruptly stood. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked them over to the bunk.

And then, for a span of hours, they didn’t think at all about the League, or Darhk, or Wilson...or anyone other than each other.

***

Dawn came far too soon. Sara’s eyes opened and she drew in a deep and sudden breath. Leonard was wrapped around her, as if trying to protect her, even in his sleep, long legs and arms taking up a considerable amount of room. Rather regretfully, Sara gently dislodged his arms and slipped from the bunk, or tried to. Leonard caught her wrist at the last moment and tugged her back to his side.

“Remember what I said,” he murmured. “We will make it through this, together.”

“I want to believe that,” she whispered back, regret clear in her tone.

“Believe in me. Believe in us.” Leonard pressed his lips to the hand that wore his ring, then released it. He glanced around ruefully at the discarded items of clothing scattered over the floor. Time to get to work. 

***

Amaya had the tiller when Sara came up on deck. Mick stood close behind her, his large hands resting lightly on top of hers on the wheel. Sara just moved to the rail with her spyglass. It wasn’t as if she was going to comment on such a thing - not today, when they’d all be lucky to see the sunset. And there it was, just ahead. A huge hulk of a ship, flying a black and orange standard, making straight for the port at Boston.

“Mick,” she said quietly.

He nodded, and he and Amaya swung the wheel hard over. Mick pressed a kiss to her temple and squeezed her shoulders before moving to ring the ship’s bell.

Sin appeared on deck, looking around uncertainly, and Sara turned to speak with the girl, keeping her tone low and calm. “Remember what I told you. Run to the armory and get your pistol, then go to my cabin and lock yourself in. Do not come out until one of us comes for you. All right?”

Sin nodded, then launched herself at Sara. Sara hugged the girl fiercely for a long moment, then pushed her away gently. “Go on, now.”

* * *

**Boston, Massachusetts Bay Colony**

Constable Quentin Lance looked around curiously as he made his way from the small ship that had carried him from Marblehead. Although he’d never been to the city before, he knew enough to keep his eyes and ears open, especially around the docks.

He heard a scuffle down a side street, and at first kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the path before him, reminding himself that it wasn’t his place to interfere here - at least until he heard a girl’s high-pitched cry of pain. 

_Oh, no. Not while_ I’m _able. Never._

Mouth set in a firm line, he turned and ran up the alley, catching the hand of the ruffian who was about to deliver another blow to the girl cowering before him. She was slender, with messy blonde hair, and about the same age as -

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Quentin growled, grabbing the man’s jacket, pulling him away from the girl and slamming him into the brick wall.

“Hey! What’s all this?” a deep voice called from the end of the alley. And Quentin Lance knew a constable... _another_ constable...when he heard one.

“This fella was accosting a young lady,” he began.

The constable raised an eyebrow, and Quentin looked down, only to realize that the girl had fled.

“Constable Joe West,” the other man said in a patient tone. “And we don’t see many ‘ladies’ in this part of town.”

“That’s no excuse for beatin’ on a slip of a girl.” Quentin’s voice, however, was fierce. So much, he thought, for “wasn’t his place.”

“No, it’s not.” West sighed and looked down at the obviously drunken man in Quentin’s grasp. “Come along then. I’ll need to take your statement.”

***

By the time they’d spent more than a few minutes in each other’s company, however, the two constables had warmed up to each other. When the drunk was safely ensconced in the city lockup, West--”call me Joe”--had offered to buy Quentin a drink at a tavern nearby, and then bid the other man farewell.

“Thank you for your help, Constable Lance,” he said, “but next time, remember you’re not responsible for what goes on in this city.”

“Old habits, you know?” Quentin sighed. “I’ve got two - well, one daughter now, and the first thing I see when I step off the boat is some fella beating on a girl who looks like my Sara.”

“I understand. I have a daughter myself.” Joe shot Quentin another long look. “May I ask, what brings you here?”

“Well, my youngest, she died a few years ago, and my wife has suffered these fits of…melancholy, the apothecary calls it.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I heard there was a real fine physician here that maybe could help. A Dr. Harrison Wells?”

“I’ve heard of him. He’s at the university, over in Cambridge. I can -”

At that moment, alarm bells began to clangor all along the waterfront. The men shot each other a look. 

Trouble.

* * *

Jefferson had the barrel of pitch at the stern of the Canary, and Nate had set up a brazier at the bow. Snart was carefully wrapping arrows in pitch-soaked rags.

“Keep soaking down that deck!” Mick ordered, eyeing the smoking brazier. 

“Aye, sir,” Nate replied, moving to the rail to haul up another bucket of water.

He was, apparently, not serious enough about the matter to appease the first mate, who eyed him grimly.

“If we survive all this, but you set fire to her ship, the cap’n just might feed you to the sharks,” Mick informed the other man.

Nate flashed him the ghost of a grin. 

They could see Nyssa’s ship swiftly closing in on the Deathstroke. The crew of the larger vessel either hadn’t noticed them, or more likely, didn’t consider them a threat. 

“Remember,” Sara cautioned from where she kept watch, “Slade Wilson doesn’t obey the rules of war. If he turns on us, there will be no warning shots, and no quarter given.” 

“I won’t tell you how to shoot them things, and you don’t tell me how to steer the boat,” Mick growled. 

“Deal,” Sara agreed, with a feral grin. 

“There’s the signal, Captain!” Amaya’s voice rang out.

Sara glanced over, and saw a red flag being waved on the deck of Nyssa’s ship. She moved quickly to the glowing brazier, bow in hand. Snart followed with the prepared arrows. 

Before she could fire, three flaming arrows soared up from the League ship. Two found their mark, and one sizzled into the water. 

“Closer, Mick!” Sara yelled, nocking an arrow, setting it alight and loosing it in a smooth blur of motion. Her arrow found its mark, setting a sail on the Deathstroke alight.  
All too soon, however, musket balls began to whiz across the deck. 

“Dammit!” Sara swore, loosing two more arrows in quick succession. All her usual shooters were otherwise occupied, unable to return fire.

To her surprise, Master Defoe made his way to the bow in a scuttling crouch, staying below the line of fire. He held a musket in his hands, and Martin followed awkwardly with two more. 

“What the hell are you doing up here?” Snart demanded, not wanting to distract Sara from her task. 

“I’m quite a good shot, as it happens,” the sometime-merchant informed him. 

**_“He’s not!”_ **

Martin, realizing that he was the subject of that protest, shot Snart a nasty glare.

“He can reload for me,” Defoe replied calmly. He raised himself slightly, took aim, and disposed of a clever fellow on the Deathstroke who’d been trying to raise a bucket of water to douse one of the fires they’d gone to such lengths to set. He passed the spent rifle to Martin and took another. 

“Good shot. Try for the ones who are shooting at us,” Snart told him drily.

“Yes, of course.” 

One of Nyssa’s people was aiming for the gunports, hoping to ignite some powder or start a fire deeper inside the ship. Sara was concentrating on the sails and masts, which were nearly all aflame by now. 

“Captain, we’re coming up very close on the city,” Amaya announced. “The Deathstroke is opening fire!”

“Stick to the plan,” Sara replied, lighting another arrow. She sighted on a sharpshooter who was aiming for the Canary and sent him to his death. 

The Deathstroke was starting to take fire from the fort on Castle Island as well. Finally, there was a muffled “boom” deep within the flaming ship, and masked men began to jump overboard. 

“Mick, pull us back, in case their powder magazine blows! Nate, put out that fire!” Sara ordered, letting loose one final flaming arrow. 

“Aye, Captain,” he replied, immediately dowsing the brazier. 

“I’ll get more muskets and pick off some of those in the water,” Snart said. 

Sara nodded curtly, and shot a glare at Martin before he could protest.

* * *

The waterfront was chaos. The hulking ship closing in on the city was being harried by two swift, light ships of an unfamiliar design. Rumors spread like wildfire - that the larger ship was a known pirate, bent on vengeance and destruction, was the most reliable. That Robin Hood prowled the city streets, rescuing people, seemed the product of a few too many tankards of ale.

The larger ship was burning, even as it came close enough to open fire on the city. The guns at Castle Island began to fire at the ship as the flames climbed higher and the crew began to abandon the vessel. 

“This way!” Joe West called as he ran, gesturing for Quentin to follow. “We’ve got reports that some of those sailors have made it ashore. We need to stop them, here at the waterfront.” 

Quentin nodded, frankly pleased that the other man had simply assumed that he’d be helping out, even in a city not his own. “Ugly bastards,” he muttered, aiming for a masked sailor who was scrambling up out of the water. When the bullet didn’t drop the man, he swung the musket, bashing in the side of his head. 

“What the hell?” Joe exclaimed from his other side.

Quentin looked up and toward the water. There, he saw a tall man, hooded in green, facing down the biggest, ugliest son of a bitch of them all. The two men seemed to speak for a moment, then the man in green smoothly and abruptly lifted the bow at his side and fired an arrow straight into the masked man’s eye from close range. The heavy body toppled back off the wharf into the water. 

Quentin blinked, and scrubbed some sweat from his eyes. When he opened them a second later, the man in green was gone. He looked back to Joe, whose mouth was hanging slightly open. 

“Did you see that?” 

“See, yes. Believe...I don’t know.” 

Seconds later, there was a thunderous explosion rather too close for comfort, and the burning vessel vanished in a sheet of flame and debris. The two lighter ships circled back and headed into port. 

“What kinda ships are those?” Joe wondered. 

“No idea,” Quentin replied, “but whoever they are, those people are heroes.” 

***

One of those ships full of “heroes” was waiting at the dock when a certain pale gentleman hauled himself up out of the water. Wet and bedraggled, but still too calm and self-possessed for the situation, Damien Darhk found himself facing a circle of drawn bows. 

“Why, Nyssa,” he said smoothly, “how very delightful to meet you here.” 

She favored him with a cool smile. “I assure you, it will not be nearly so delightful where you’re going. You really should choose your associates with more care.” 

The pale man offered an elegant half-shrug. “Wilson was too consumed by rage,” he agreed. “I’ve always fared better on my own.” 

“That sort of thinking is why my father wishes to have words with you. You shall be returned to Nanda Parbat to face League justice.” 

“How many men do you mind losing in the process?” he challenged. Darhk slipped a hand into his pocket--and suddenly found himself with the blade of Nyssa’s dagger pricking his neck and his medallion dangling from her hand. 

“Should you cause any difficulty,” she said sweetly, “my father has indicated that merely returning your head will suffice.”

As several men stepped forward, Nyssa pocketed the medallion and raised her voice. 

“ Take him back to the ship,” she told them. “I have... business...to attend to.” 

***

The Canary slipped into a berth as a troop of soldiers from the local garrison trotted out onto the dock. Watching, those on deck considered their next move.

“The papers from Raymond, you think?” Snart said quietly to Sara.

Before she could answer, Master Defoe stepped forward. “Please, allow me.” 

He drew a thin oilskin packet from inside the lining of his coat and stepped out to meet the approaching troop. 

“Ah. Leftenant. Daniel Defoe, at your service. I believe this will answer any questions you might have.” 

He presented the redcoat with a parchment. The man’s eyes widened as he stared at the seal, then read the contents. He straightened and clicked his heels together. (Watching, Snart raised his eyebrows and looked thoughtful.)

“Of course, sir. How may we be of assistance? Do you require provisions? A physician, perhaps?” 

“I believe we are all intact, but a hot meal certainly wouldn’t go amiss,” Defoe told him breezily. “It’s been quite a long day.” 

“Of course, sir.” The officer issued some brisk orders and his men dispersed. “What is the condition of your ship?” 

Sara drew herself up with indignation, but Defoe motioned to her, shaking his head.

“I don’t believe we suffered any damage,” he said to the officer, “but with the _captain’s_ permission, perhaps some engineers from the naval yard might have a look? Make sure everything is ship-shape, as it were?” 

Sara drew in a long breath, then let it go. “Please,” she said. “That would be much appreciated.”

She allowed herself, just the tiniest bit, to lean into Leonard’s shoulder, feeling him lean back just a tiny bit in return and wishing that she could allow herself to believe it was over.

While knowing full well it was not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: 1. We have been loosely adapting elements of Arrow Season 2, including the element of Sara being willing to take her own life rather than return to the League. This scene takes place near the beginning of this chapter, but rest assured, there WILL be a happy ending...  
> 2\. ...in the form of a rather NSFW scene near the end of the chapter. Please note the change of rating.

* * *

Acrid smoke from the wreck of the Deathstroke drifted back on the breeze, fouling the air along the wharf. Sara carefully examined the hull of her ship from the dock.

“Any damage?” Leonard asked wearily, coming up behind her. His voice was just the littlest bit rough from helping with the cleanup. It’d been a long, exhausting day for all of them.

“I don’t think so. Mick and Jefferson are taking a good look from the inside, but I think we’re OK.”

Leonard stepped closer, and carefully brushed back the tendrils of hair that had slipped free of Sara’s braid. “And you?”

“I’m fine.” She turned and reached up to rub his shoulder.

“You’re not fine.”

“Leonard…this isn‘t over. You know that.”

“No, it is not,” Nyssa stated, stepping out of the shadows, created by the setting sun and the various crates and items resting about the dock. “Come, Sara. It’s time to go home. Say farewell to your lover.”

Leonard stepped toward her, eyes flashing dangerously. “If you understood that word at all, you wouldn’t do this.”

Sara stepped between them, pushing him back with firm hands on his chest. “Don’t.” She turned to Nyssa, who was loosening a dagger in its sheath. “Don’t,” she repeated.

“Sara, you swore an oath,” Nyssa reminded her. “If you will not honor that, there is only one way this can end.”

“I know.” Sara turned back to Leonard. “Go back aboard.”

“No.”

She looked up at him with her heart in her eyes. “Remember what you promised me. You look after Sin. Make sure she always knows that she’s loved and cherished. Help her find her way.”

His eyes widened in horror as Sara slipped a narrow, razor-sharp knife from a hidden sheath.

“Sara, **_no.”_**

“Go. Get aboard the ship and cast off.” Sara’s voice was calm, firm. “Now. The Canary is yours. Go, and don’t look back.”

“Sara…”

**_“Go!”_ **

She turned resolutely to face Nyssa, listening carefully to the brief sound of raised voices, followed by the sound of a hurried departure.

“You made the right choice, beloved.”

“I know,” Sara said distantly. She glanced over her shoulder - once - at everything she loved in the world moving away from her. She swallowed hard, then lifted the knife and set the point against her own chest.

Nyssa’s eyes widened as she realized what was happening. **_“Sara, no!”_** she screamed.

Sara dimly heard Leonard’s voice as she felt the first prick of the blade against her skin. Taking another deep breath, she ignored it.

“You would really go so far?” Nyssa actually sounded shaken, uncertain.

“I can’t take the killing anymore, Nyssa. There is only one way for this to end. And it ends now, with me.” Sara took one more deep breath, just one more, closed her eyes, and steadied her hands.

But her eyes flew open again as Nyssa’s voice rang out across the wharf.

“Ta-er al-sahfer, in the name of Ra’s al Ghul, I release you!” 

The dark-haired woman looked stricken, like she couldn’t quite believe her own words. She turned away, tears streaking her cheeks.

Sara dropped to her knees. Her blade clattered to the dock from nerveless fingers. She vaguely heard shouts behind her, feet pounding along the dock, and then Leonard’s arms, strong around her. He snatched her kerchief from around her neck and yanked open the front of her shirt to expose the small wound. He sagged with relief when he realized that Sara hadn’t had time to complete the blow. He pressed her kerchief against the cut, then buttoned her jacket closed to hold it in place. He pressed his lips to her hair, and cradled her close to his chest.

Sara’s fingers curled into Leonard’s coat, keeping him close. “I love you,” she whispered.

“Hey! It’s that ship - the one that saved us!” Constable West exclaimed, running along the wharf.

A second voice replied, and Sara’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her face paled beneath her freckles and she struggled in Leonard’s arms until he carefully assisted her to her feet.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Leonard murmured, watching the men approach.

“Hey, are you folks all right? Do you need...” Constable Lance, coming up behind West, asked. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, amazement in his eyes.

 ** _“Sara?”_** he exclaimed in utter disbelief.

“Sara?” Mick bellowed in an echo from the Canary. “Cap’n?”

Quentin Lance glanced from the ship to the small blond woman cradled protectively in the tall man’s arms. “Sara?” he repeated. “That’s **_your_** ship? **_You’re_** the one who saved us?”

Sara gently stepped away from Leonard’s embrace. “Yes, Dad, it’s me,” she replied in a shaky voice, taking a hesitant step towards him.

Quentin quickly closed the distance between them and engulfed her into a crushing embrace. “My baby...my baby girl. How…?” After a long, long, moment, he looked up, over his daughter’s head to the man who stood nearby. “Are you -?”

Sara shifted slightly in his arms. “Dad, this is Leonard. I - we - it’s complicated.”

Quentin tightened his arms around her again. “I don’t care. I’ve got you back again. That’s all that matters.” 

Still, he studied Leonard carefully for a few more long moments. “You love my little girl? You take good care of her?”

“I love her very much, sir, and we take care of each other.”

“That’s all I need to hear.” Quentin freed one arm and extended his hand. “Quentin Lance.”

Leonard took his hand in a firm grasp. “Leonard Snart. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“Snart, is it?” Joe muttered, walking up beside them and eyeing him suspiciously. “Seems to me I’ve heard that name before.”

But with the sound of pounding footsteps, a new arrival ran onto the dock with a strangled “No!”

“You’ve got the wrong man, Joe,” Bartholomew told him, bending over to catch his breath. The Flash had just been returning to port when all the chaos erupted. 

“You all right, son?” Joe asked, a bemused expression on his face.

“I’m fine,” the young man gasped. “Not a scratch on the ship - we missed all the excitement. But Leonard, here - he’s Cisco Ramon’s brother-in-law. He and Sara saved Palmer House, and probably a big chunk of London, from being blown up. Whatever his father may have been, Leonard is a hero.”

“My sister?” Leonard asked urgently, taking a step toward the other man.

Bartholomew straightened and his face split into a wide, boyish grin. “Lisa is well. She and Cisco have a house over in Cambridge, well clear of all this. He works at the University.” The younger man’s expression softened. “She has someone very special for you to meet.”

Conflicting wishes flickered across Leonard’s face. He wanted - no, needed - to know that his sister was safe, and yet, Sara was swaying on her feet…

“All the trouble was centered here, around the waterfront,” Joe offered, with kind understanding. “I’m sure your sister is fine.” 

“You don’t look too good, Sara,” Quentin observed, looking with concern at his daughter. 

Sara straightened. “I’m fine, Dad. It’s just been a long day.” 

“I think what we all need right now is food and sleep,” Joe decided. “Constable Lance, you’re welcome to stay the night with me.” 

Quentin glanced at his daughter and her companion, undecided. 

“We’ll still be here in the morning, Dad. I promise.” 

“All right.” He couldn’t resist one more hug. “And you’ve got a lot to tell me, hear? I want to know... I want to know **_everything._** What happened? Where is…”

“Dad...I promise. But **_later.”_**

“OK, OK…”

“I can take you all out to Cambridge tomorrow to see Lisa,” Bartholomew offered. 

Sara shot Leonard a look, then smiled. “Yes. I think we should do that.”

***

Mick enfolded Sara in a rough bear hug when she stepped on deck. “You scared me, Cap’n.” 

“I’m sorry.” She sucked in a deep breath, eyes scanning her ship. 

Mick caught the look and stepped back. “Ship’s fine, but Master Defoe arranged for an engineer from the Royal Navy to take a look tomorrow. Seems that feller really does have pull.” 

Sin appeared and ran towards Sara, a look of immense worry on on her small features.

“Gently,” Leonard admonished, seconds before the girl crashed into Sara and locked her arms around the captain’s waist. 

“It’s fine,” Sara said, with a weary smile, wrapping her arms around the girl’s shoulders.

“Sin, I think the captain could do with a nice cup of tea, and some warm water to clean up,” Amaya suggested gently, coming up behind them.

Sin nodded, giving Sara a sober look before she scampered off. 

Afterward, Sara had only the vaguest recollection of Leonard leading her back to their cabin. He helped her remove her clothing and wash away some of the more obvious soot and grime. Her hair smelled of smoke, but they could deal with that in the morning.

He tended to the cut on her chest without the slightest hint of teasing or innuendo. (Ghosting a kiss over the small wound didn’t count.) He tried to coax her to eat one of the meat pies that a local tavern owner had brought, but she drifted off in his arms. Finally, he gave up, and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before settling back in the bunk with his arms wrapped securely around her. 

***

Quentin Lance stared in wonder at the ship that had saved them all. The ship that his daughter--his long-lost, believed-dead, so-beloved **_daughter_** \--commanded. 

Leonard noticed from his place at the rail. “Good morrow, Constable,” he called. “Come aboard!” 

“I was half afraid it was all a dream,” Quentin confessed, as he came up on deck. “Where’s my daughter?” 

“Asleep. She’ll be angry about it when she wakes up, but yesterday was hard.” 

“She never did like other folks telling her what was best.” Quentin glanced about the ship. “My little girl really commands this thing?”

“She does, but I think that’s her tale to tell.” 

“And you respect that.” 

“I respect her.” 

Quentin nodded. “Her mother will be so pleased to see her.” He hesitated a moment. “When do you think we can go home?” 

“A day or two. We were very lucky yesterday, but there are some naval engineers coming to look the ship over.” Leonard eyed the other man a moment. “We’re going to Cambridge today, to visit my sister,” he said finally. “She’s all the family I have. I’d be pleased if you joined us.” 

Quentin studied the younger--though not that much younger--man a long moment, thinking about what he’d seen and the way his Sara had relied on him.

“I’d be honored,” he said eventually, “...son.” 

***

Leonard paused a moment outside their cabin. He had a large mug of the captain’s favorite tea as a peace offering as he tapped lightly on the door. 

“Enter!” Sara called. 

She looked up from combing out her damp hair as he entered, frowning just a little. “Since when do you knock on the door to your own cabin?” 

“I saw Sin scurrying around with pails of hot water. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Sara’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of which, why didn’t you wake me?” 

“Because you needed the rest,” he said firmly, offering her the mug. 

Sara took it, bringing the cup close to her face to inhale the fragrant steam. She smiled before taking a sip, then frowned again, stubbornly refusing to be distracted. 

“The ship -”

“Is in a safe port. You have an excellent crew that would walk through hell for you. You were hurt, and you needed to rest. You never stirred when I got up, not even when I dropped my razor.” He took a deep breath. “I could have lost you, yesterday,” he concluded softly. 

Sara’s eyes softened slightly at the tone of his voice, but she wasn’t quite ready to let it go yet. “I’m not made of glass,” she grumbled half-heartedly. 

“No,” Leonard agreed. “You are the strongest person I have ever known.” He drew in a careful breath, and uttered words he never thought he’d ever say aloud, to anyone. “You are the woman I love, and you are the most precious thing in my world.” 

Sara stared a long moment, then carefully set the cup down before reaching for him.

The tea got cold. They didn’t mind.

***

“Go on,” Sara coaxed, nudging Sin to enter the galley ahead of her. The girl hesitated another moment, then grinned at her, took a deep breath, and entered.

There was chorus of “huzzahs” from the crew at the sight of their cabin girl dressed as a proper young lady. Mick raised his tankard to her, and Verdant squawked “Pretty lady!” repeatedly from his perch until Amaya tossed him a bit of biscuit. Leonard rose to his feet and bowed. Sin blushed and turned and hid her face against Sara for a moment until the captain firmly turned her back around. 

Sara herself was wearing an ivy-green linen bodice over a flowered petticoat. A wine-colored ribbon was loosely braided into her hair. 

“You look lovely, sweetheart,” Quentin told her. He looked a little awkward about keeping company with The Canary’s irreverent crew, but pleased nonetheless.

Sara leaned down to kiss her father’s cheek. “Thanks, Dad.” 

“What’s the occasion?” Leonard asked, as she slid into the seat next to his and reached for his mug. 

“We’re going to visit your sister. I want to make a good impression.” 

“Sara, the day you met Lisa, you saved her from a fate worse than death. I don’t think you have to worry about your reception.” He reclaimed his mug and took a drink, eyeing her attire. “I’ve seen you wear this before, haven’t I?” 

“Yes. Should I have chosen something finer?” she asked uncertainly. 

“No! Of course not, you look beautiful. It’s just...I could have sworn that you bought something from that cloth merchant, when we got the material for Sin’s dress.” 

She smiled, then glanced up at him from under her eyelashes, an expression that made him wish rather desperately that the room wasn’t filled with other people. (Her father, in particular.)

“Maybe I did.” The tone was low and sultry, not the sort of thing she’d usually use in company. That--and the look--was enough to have at least some good idea what sort of...apparel...the material had been used for.

Leonard looked wildly around the room, hoping for some distraction before his errant brain provided him with further helpful imagery.

“So, Master Defoe, will you be writing that book when you return home?” Martin was asking. 

“I should think so,” the man in question replied. “I’ve material enough for one book, perhaps two. Captain, I was wondering if I might book passage back to England on your fine ship? Billed to the Crown, of course.” 

Sara looked around at the familiar faces of her crew - her _family._ “I’m afraid we’ll be staying in this vicinity for a while,” she said. “It’s been quite some time since some of us have been home. I’m sure you understand.

“However, I believe our good friend, Bartholomew Allen, captain of the Flash, might be able to accommodate you. I’ll introduce you.” 

***

Later, Leonard took a moment to speak with Bartholomew while Sara was attending to some ship’s business with Mick. He approached the younger man rather diffidently. 

“Thank you for this,” he began, gesturing to the wagon that would carry them to Cambridge to visit Lisa. “And thank you for speaking up for me, yesterday.”

“It’s my pleasure, on both counts,” the younger man replied with a grin. “And I only spoke the truth.” He paused. “I understand, now, that there were things that you did to keep yourself and Lisa safe from Lewis. I’m sorry for judging.” He noticed Leonard’s gaze drift over his shoulder for a second and grinned. “And I’m glad you met Sara. She’s good for you.” 

“I like to think we’re good for each other,” Leonard said after a scant hesitation. Another beat, and he held out his hand. 

The two men shook hands firmly, and then Sara was there, and Leonard was lifting her into the back of the wagon, where clean straw had been spread to cushion the ride. At first, he tried to maintain a slight distance between them, out of respect for the fact that her father was right there, and that they were out in public, but Sara promptly leaned in against him, and Leonard automatically wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her in close against his side. 

For nearly all his life, the son of Lewis Snart had pushed others away, until he met Sara Lance...and he realized two things: that she could _never_ be close enough, and that home was no longer a place.

It was her.

* * *

**Cambridge, Massachusetts Bay Colony**

“Lenny!” Lisa shrieked when she saw him on the doorstep.

He barely had a second to brace himself before his sister flung herself into his arms, just as she’d done as a child.

“They’re talking about it all over the city - how you sailed in and burned that awful pirate ship! It sounds like something you’d hear in a tavern - masked men, and Robin Hood!”

“Robin Hood?” Leonard drawled. He tried to insert a measure of snark into his tone, but failed miserably. He was smiling too much to make a genuine effort.

Lisa nodded, then noticed Sara. She launched herself at the captain with only a trifle less enthusiasm than she’d shown her brother. “Welcome to our home! I’m so glad to see you both!”

“Thank you,” Sara murmured, smothered in the enthusiastic embrace. “This is my father, Contable Quentin Lance.”

“Welcome, Constable,” Lisa said, before pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle a fit of giggling at the thought of a constable in the home of one of Lewis Snart’s children. 

Quentin looked slightly confused. 

Leonard just rolled his eyes and smiled affectionately at his sibling. “Married life agrees with you,” he observed, glancing around the comfortable house.

“It does. And I think nautical life agrees with you.” Lisa stepped in close and stretched up to kiss her brother’s cheek. “So does love,” she whispered. She grabbed one of Leonard’s hands, and one of Sara’s, and drew them into a cozy front room. “Come. There’s someone I want you both to meet.”

Lisa lifted a baby from a snug wooden cradle. “Her name is Lenora. I wanted something that sounded a bit like Leonard and Sara put together, because she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the two of you.”

“She’s lovely,” Sara said. 

Grinning, Lisa placed the baby in her arms, smirking just a little at the expression on the captain’s face. “Well, of course she is. You two get to know your niece while I fetch some tea and cakes.”

Leonard slipped his arm around Sara, partly to admire the baby, and partly to admire Sara’s wonderful dimpled smile and shining eyes. It had been far too long since he’d seen her smile like that. Seeing Sara cradle an infant in her arms kindled a surprising wish in his heart. 

***

Sara was lounging on their bunk with a goblet of wine when Leonard entered the cabin. She rolled to her knees when he came in for the night, giving him a wonderful view of what she was wearing. It was a sleeveless shift, made of delicate white lawn. The sheer material painted her curves into tantalizing shadows, and the wide neckline was drawn together with a slender satin ribbon that looked delightfully accident prone.

After a long moment, he remembered to breath again, and latched the door. He accepted the goblet and drained it, then set it aside, somewhat clumsily. Sara grinned, but wasn’t about to chide him for his fumbling--not when she’d gone to so much trouble to set him off balance. He laid a gentle hand on her hip, mesmerized by the way the warmth of her skin radiated through the thin fabric. Sara twined her arms around his neck and they shared a long, languid kiss that tasted of the sweet Spanish wine they’d been drinking.

Eventually, Leonard felt the need to catch his breath. He feathered tiny kisses along Sara’s jaw, then tipped his head slightly to whisper in her ear. “You are exquisitely beautiful.”

Sara mirrored his actions, but where Leonard’s tone was filled with a certain reverent awe, hers was a heady mixture of mischief and desire, no less honest or heartfelt. “You are wearing entirely too many clothes.”

Leonard leaned down to kiss her shoulder, and then his hands began to roam. They were both enjoying the sensation of his hands-and mouth-through the delicate cloth...at least until Sara poked him playfully in the chest. 

“Buttons,” she complained, trying to push Leonard’s waistcoat off his shoulders. 

He looked up at her through those amazingly long lashes of his, and Sara lost her train of thought for a moment. He really had the most beautiful eyes of any man - and a great many of the women - that she’d met. 

“I told you you were wearing too many clothes,” she reiterated, with a slight hitch in her breath. 

Leonard noticed, if the smug little smirk playing over his lips was any indication. “I suppose I should do something about that,” he drawled. He stood and shrugged out of his waistcoat, then discarded the rest of his clothing under Sara’s openly appreciative gaze. When he was down to just his shirt, he moved to join her on the bunk, but she quirked an eyebrow until he removed that as well. 

“This,” he drawled, leaning back and regarding her, enjoying the way she was eyeing him as she reclined nearby, “strikes me as just a little bit _unfair.”_

“Hmm. I don’t see you…” She licked her lips and considered one particular portion of anatomy. “...complaining. Far from it.”

“True.” He let his own eyes roam more, fingers twitching as she finally moved back within reach, then lifted one hand to toy with the ribbon, lifting his eyes to meet hers as he slowly brought the other hand up under the sheer fabric.

For a while, the only sounds were incoherent ones. Finally, Sara found her voice again, meeting his smug eyes with her dark ones and smiling at his smirk.

“If you tear this thing, you’re in big trouble,” she warned him breathlessly. “I put a lot of work into it. And you want to see it again...don’t you?”

He didn’t tear it. 

Barely.

* * *

**Marblehead, Massachusetts Bay Colony**

Sara was still fiddling with her hair when Leonard returned to their cabin, freshly shaven, and dressed in neat, conservative clothing. He checked the time, then carefully tucked his watch into his waistcoat pocket.

“You’re beautiful,” he assured her, stooping to kiss her temple. He took the brush away from her and deftly twisted two locks of hair back from her face and secured them with a tortoiseshell comb. Then he shook out her favorite cashmere shawl and draped it around her shoulders before tugging her gently to her feet.

There was a quiet tap at the door. “Sara, honey? Are you ready to go?”

“Coming, Dad,” she replied.

Leonard smiled reassuringly and extended his arm for her.

Quentin smiled broadly when they finally appeared in the passageway. He couldn’t resist stepping forward and engulfing Sara in a tight hug. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Your mother is going to be so happy.”

“Not so sure about Laurel,” Sara muttered.

“Hey - she’s your sister, and she loves you. She’s going to be so happy to know you’re OK. Really.”

Sara’s smile was a bit tremulous, and her fingers dug into Leonard’s arm, even through his coat. Still, she took a deep breath and followed her father out.

The village was much as she remembered it - small, boring, and dusty, and in places, reeking of dead fish. People called out greetings to her father, and some stared curiously at the blonde in the muslin gown, thinking she looked vaguely familiar. Leonard, of course, was the object of several outright admiring appraisals.

Sara looked fairly serene, she thought, but she was having a hard time resisting the urge to turn in her tracks and flee. Just being here brought back so many memories, good and bad, so many regrets and what-ifs. She swallowed and closed her eyes, aware of the pounding headache tension had given her, then opened them again at a flurry of rather...odd...noises.

A ruckus erupted as they turned onto the main street. A sheep came pelting down the middle of the road with a farmer and his two sons in hot pursuit, followed by a particularly irate shopkeeper. The stout merchant was red in the face, and his fine clothing was spattered with mud. The farmer and sons looked harried, possibly as much by the merchant as the sheep. The sheep however, looked smug in a way only escaped livestock can, even as it put on even more speed and went careening past the startled trio.

Sara heard a muttered noise that mingled profanity and disbelief from Leonard, and that’s all it took. She couldn’t restrain her mirth at the sight. All the tension she’d been harboring over this visit evaporated in a torrent of delighted laughter that had her leaning rather heavily on Leonard’s arm.

A bit farther down the street, two women were shopping. They had the same shade of reddish-brown hair, and the older woman had a rounder face, and wild curls that escaped the confines of her cap. The younger had a certain willowy grace, and both of their countenances were bore traces of a deep sorrow. They turned at the sound of Sara’s laughter and froze. The older woman dropped her market basket.

“Sara?”

The woman took a halting step forward, and Quentin hurried forward to take her arm, Sara and Leonard following him.

“Yes, Dinah…it’s Sara. It‘s our Sara. It’s...well, it’s a long story. But it’s our Sara, safe and well.”

Sara glanced nervously at Leonard, and he laid a reassuring hand on her back. With a sigh, she took a few more steps forward until she was right in front of her mother.

Dinah stepped forward and cupped Sara’s face in her hands. “My baby…how is this possible?”

“It’s complicated, Mum.” Sara couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes at first, then sighed and looked up. Her own eyes were brimming with tears.

“I don’t care,” Dinah declared, and swept her daughter into a fierce embrace. Sara let out a strangled sob.

“What about Oliver?” the younger woman asked, her tone an odd combination of pleasure, relief...and just a touch of possible shrewishness. “Is he…”

“Laurel!” Quentin admonished, but Sara shook her head. She stepped back slightly from her mother. “I don’t know, Laurel. There was a storm - the ship sank. I never saw him again after that night.”

“But you survived.”

Sara glanced up at Leonard for support at the same moment that Dinah noticed the pewter ring on her hand.

“Sara! Are you - is this -?”

“Mum, this is -”

Leonard stepped forward, removed his hat, and bowed smartly. “Leonard Snart, at your service, madam.”

Dinah stared at him a long moment, and Sara could just about see all the questions that were going through her mother’s head. She took another deep breath, ready to defend Leonard from whatever Dinah could say, but to her surprise, her mother just gave them a little smile.

“Mr. Snart,” she said, “if you have anything at all to do with my little girl being home, even…” and here, a shrewd glance at Sara, “...for a little while, I am very, very pleased to meet you.”

With that, she pulled the startled man into a firm hug, and Sara did laugh right out loud. Looking at her sister, she was surprised to see a twinkle of understanding in Laurel’s eyes...and then Laurel was hugging her, and she was hugging back, and…

Even for a little while--especially for a _little_ while--it was good to be back.

**Author's Note:**

> We played a bit fast and loose with history on this one.  
> 1\. Port Royal, Jamaica was destroyed by an earthquake in June 1692. (Earthquake - evil bad guy - same difference, right?)  
> 2\. Daniel Defoe was the author of Robinson Crusoe, generally regarded as the first English novel. He actually was an agent for King William, and a wine merchant. While there's no documentation of him traveling to the colonies, I figured we had plenty of room to play.  
> We hope you enjoyed our latest adventure!


End file.
